No emotions are shown. They are rigid as stone. They whisper and hum, in their bubble, alone. Blocking smells, light, and noise, pitching tones from their voice, inappropriate things make them smile and rejoice. Away from the crowd, when the people are loud, endless talking of things you care nothing about. The hyper or hypo (real sensitive touch) makes them hate being rubbed, or they cradle too much. They speak from their mind, without filters or signs, or they overreact to what you find benign. They take things too literal, repeat what’s retained, then, they run it in circles; inside of their brain. They piece things together, the way they know to, and the pieces land snug, but seem unfit to you. They do wonders in art, and their memory’s strong, but cannot seem to fit in the group they belong. What seems like a curse, is a blessing (dressed up), cause they push hard in life and they never give up.

Published by notapeepbutlotsofpaper

A silent voice with lots to say. I speak with pens to stay away.

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